Doing Something For Myself
by writesthings
Summary: An unorthodox love story between a man and his double. Eleven/Ganger!Eleven.


**Doing Something For Myself  
>A Warped Doctor Who Love Story<strong>

Setting - An alternate ending to the picnic set during 'The Impossible Astronaut'.  
>Characters Mentioned - Eleven, Amy, Rory, River Song, and the Eleventh Ganger<p>

"Saloo!" cheered the Doctor. He raised his glass to his three companions.

"Saloo!" echoed Amy, Rory, and River Song, clinking their glasses against the red wine bottle the Doctor held.

"So when are we going to 1969?" Rory asked quickly.

"And since when do you drink wine?" Amy questioned, waving her glass in the Doctor's direction after taking a sip.

"I'm eleven hundred and three, I must have drunk it sometime," the Doctor protested, taking a vigorous swig from the bottle, only to just as vigorously spit it into the sand. "Oh, wine's horrid! I- I- I… I thought it would taste more like the gums." He made a face at the bottle housing the offending liquid.

"Eleven hundred and three? You were nine hundred and eight last time we saw you."

"And you've put on a couple of pounds, I wasn't gonna mention it," the Time Lord replied snarkily.

Amy grinned. "That old, isn't there anything _you've _done _yourself _and not based on your 'other lives'. I mean, besides saving the universe and everything," Amy hastily amended her prior harsh statement, staring into her glass.

"Well," the Doctor mused, wiping his mouth of residual wine, "I did have the unique opportunity of kissing myself two centuries or so back. That's new." He took advantage of the gaping silence that followed this declaration to cram the remainder of Rory's egg-salad sandwich into his mouth and swallow.

Amy gasped for a moment, intaking several deep breaths as her brain struggled to process. How was that _possible_?_ That's impossible_, she reasoned logically, _has to be. He's jokin'…_

"What?" River Song regained speech first. "I would have known if you did, Doctor."

"But you weren't there, sweetie," the Doctor replied sensibly, sitting upright and crossing his legs. "Amy and Rory were. I thought you'd remember that experience well, Pond, you did peek in on us. Naughty girl."

"What!" Both Ponds shouted simultaneously.

"It was rather unfortunate too, I was just getting good." The Doctor smirked, but the expression morphed into a frown at Amy's still flabbergasted expression. "Something wrong, Pond?"

"You-? I-?" Amy sputtered.

"I believe you're talking of a future escapade, Doctor." River frowned as the Time Lord's face split into a large grin.

"Excellent!" he declared. "Then I'll be able to tell you what happened, come to think of it that's probably why you peeked, Pond, because I told you. Hmm." The Doctor paused, quirking an eyebrow at a thought that flitted through his consciousness. "Glad to know I'm ahead of myself," he muttered.

"Doctor?" Amy asked. "What do you mean, ahead-?"

"Nothing, Pond, nothing at all. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the island that appeared to be a monastery! Quite odd, this was a reality where humans developed Flesh."

A breeze rippled off the lake; a shiver ran through Amy. She could _hear _the capital letter. It wasn't nice.

"Flesh?" she asked cautiously.

"Fully programmable matter. Nasty stuff. While examining the Flesh, I happened to touch it, thus leaving my DNA imprint on the Flesh. It wasn't a very smart maneuver, on later reflection," the Doctor said quickly, eyes glazing for a moment. "Or safe. Then again, I'm not known for safety." He grinned at the now-captive audience. "Besides, that's beside the point." His hands moved a sort of 'shoo, away' motion that must have been symbolizing banishing the off-topic thoughts. Or something similar. "A storm hit the island, nasty bugger, lightening, thunder, the whole shebang, which animated the Flesh from husks of skin to…humans."

An awkward, stiff silence fell.

A storm. Fully programmable matter. People who weren't exactly people who now are people. And this was supposed to lead to the Doctor…kissing himself? It made absolutely no sense. None. Not that he ever made true sense, just a bunch of half-formed theories and questions and rants and silence and those constant watchful, wary, determined, sad old eyes.

Young face, old eyes.

No sense.

These awkward thoughts raced around Amelia Pond's head as the Doctor spoke again, softer than before.

"The Flesh I touched…was brought to life by the storm. I, inadvertently, mind you, created another _me_." The most feared man across several universes and realities paused, swallowing hard. "Another _me_," he stressed, and his voice cracked in his pain over the subject. "Someone who could _understand_"

Dropping her analysis of the Doctor's character, Amy set down her wine glass and reached to touch the man's shoulder. He was in _pain_. "Doctor…"

He snapped under Amy's light touch, energetic grin returning at full force. "So I had, as stated earlier, a unique opportunity for me. Another me. Right. As soon as he stabilized, yes, Flesh stabilizes, River, they aren't used to living independently and consciously," he quipped as the other time traveler had begun to open her mouth. "I took him aside at the nearest possible chance for questioning. If given the chance, wouldn't you question yourselves as well?" he scolded his disbelieving audience. "Honestly, it's a perfectly logical conclusion," the Doctor muttered, stuffing five Jammie Dodgers in his mouth to soothe his bruised ego. "I pulled him into a storage room," he mumbled around the cookie, chasing the dry shortbread with a Coke snatched from Rory's hand before finishing, "And that's when it happened."

"When _what _happened, Doctor?" Amy asked rather exasperatedly.

"When we kissed, Pond, weren't you listening?" The Doctor shoved the half-empty Coke back into Rory's hand. "It's not that difficult to follow."

"But you didn't clarify, _Doctor_, exactly what happened. You expect us to believe you shoved this duplicate-"

"Ganger," the man in question corrected heatedly. "He was a Ganger, short for doppelganger."

"_Whatever_," the Scot shot back, "he was, you expect us to believe you just shoved 'im up against the wall and started snoggin' the 'ell out've 'im?"

"Well… I…" The Doctor straightened his bowtie, a nervous habit of his. "It didn't happen exactly like _that_."

"Enlighten us," Amy ordered. Her bewildered husband and daughter nodded slowly, indicating they too wanted answers.

They were difficult answers to give.

Answers that shouldn't be so easily given, they've been held for one hundred ninety-five years.

The Doctor dropped his eyes to the picnic blanket, scanning frantically for _something_ in his discomfort. Was he really prepared to talk about this? He had had one hundred ninety-five years to prepare and his mouth was dry as a cottonball. His (shaking) hand located the package of Jammie Dodgers and shoved more into his cottonball mouth. As a Time Lord, there was always the possibility of regenerating into the opposite gender, and he had been raised to know bisexuality was the only option to escape confusion if a gender change did occur. And while there had always been the slight attraction to some of the better-looking men he had encountered throughout the universe, there had always been a woman.

Martha.

Donna.

Rose.

Just to name the most recent women his hearts had ached over, still ached over.

He was not expecting to ever meet a man who would capture his attention, make his hearts race when their fingers brushed or they spoke simultaneously. Least of all did he expect these _events _would occur with himself.

Himself! Did that make him perverted, the Doctor wondered, or simply egotistical? Or perhaps neither, given how they both had shuddered the moment their eyes met. Quite frankly, there was no-one in the universe on the same intellectual level as the Doctor (except perhaps the Master, but that's another thing entirely). The Doctor made another 'shoo, away' motion unconsciously. No-one on the same emotional level, who knew the hell he had wrought upon Gallifrey and forgave him. No-one who knew what the word 'lonely' really means, except himself.

Himself.

The Doctor sighed heavily, hazel eyes sliding shut. He braced his hands on either side of his folded legs.

The Doctor is ready to see you now…

"It was dim in the storage room," the Doctor began, eyes still shut, "and it smelled like death." The scene decided to replay itself behind his eyelids; his private screening of a tragedy.

The Doctor slammed his double against the lockers lining the wall; the icy metal bit into his newly-formed skin, but the Flesh Time Lord refused to wince. "Who are you?" the Doctor hissed.

"I'm the Doctor," he replied demurely, earning another vicious slam against the lockers. A cry of pain escaped his lips. The Doctor released the Time Lord's - the Ganger's - the thing's jacket. He slumped to lay on the freezing concrete.

"There is only one Doctor," the man standing said, voice small and broken. "There is only one Time Lord."

"Do you really believe that now?" the man on the floor asked, voice steady and calm like a pond. "Do you really?"

"No," the Doctor whispered hoarsely. He helped the Doctor to his feet. "No I don't."

Dead silence hit. Acid dripped and sizzled from a leaky pipe onto the floor nearby. A callused hand reached out, caressing the Ganger's face.

"The last of the Time Lords…" the Eleventh Doctor said.

"Is myself," the Eleventh Doctor said.

"How ironic," the Eleventh Doctors finished together.

They laughed mirthlessly.

"Wanna snog?" the Doctor asked, because he's the last of the fucking Time Lords and he's always going to be alone at the end except for himself there will always be himself he will always be waiting.

"Why not?"

And the Doctor pressed his lips to the Ganger's, a soft, yet firm pressure that tasted like despair. A good kind of despair, the disparity that makes the pair hold each other as if they were dying, made the Doctor slam the other back into the lockers, he didn't mind, he sure as hell didn't mind, grabbing the Doctor's nape and pulling it forward so their lips crushed seconds after they had parted and oh God-

Light. Harsh, fluorescent, white-yellow light streamed into the space, illuminating the rumpled pair of men.

Smirking, the Eleventh drew back from his Ganger. "Damn, I'm a good kisser," he breathed.

"You bet my ass I am," the Ganger panted back.

'Technically, that's my ass and-"the Doctor paused, the light change suddenly very evident. He turned to the door, a crooked grin in place. "Amelia Pond! What a pleasure! Care you to join us?"

Amy stared, dumbfounded, her mouth half-open in question.

The Doctor broke his flat monologue to grin disturbingly at his red-headed companion. _He looks quite mad_, she thought fleetingly. But then he was talking, and she should listen, but there was someone - something - on that cliff behind him…

"Amy?" Rory snapped his fingers, bringing her focus to him. "What is it?"

"What? I'm sorry, did you say something?" Amy blinked at the Doctor, sipped her wine.

"Merely that the reason you were so shocked is that you refuse to believe what I am telling you is a reality, Pond," he said shortly. "Nothing more."

And with that, he resumed the fairytale.

The door shut with a soft 'click'. Amy's hurried footsteps indicated her haste to remove herself from the situation.

Ganger pushed Doctor's damp bangs away from his sweaty forehead. When had he started sweating? When had his hearts started ticking faster? "We have to leave," one of them said. Later they wouldn't remember who spoke the words. But then they were the Doctor and the Ganger again, and he was dangerous. They were dangerous.

They untangled from each other, smoothed their tweed, straightened their bow ties, switched shoes. Exited the room.

"Because that's how I work, isn't it Amelia?" His eyes are tearing, he hasn't cried since the Master died, oh dear. "I come and fuck," Amy winced, she hasn't heard the Doctor swear vehemently before, the sound is harsh to her ears, oh dear, "everything up! People, planets, history, everything I touch goes to _hell. _And when I fix it, because I'm the _Doctor_ - it's never fixed quite right. Am I right, Amelia? Did I fix you up good?" He's really crying now, those are tears, but he's not sobbing, his voice level if extremely quiet when he speaks again, oh dear. "I fixed you all up good." Eyes closed, tears still poured down the Doctor's face. "I'm so old, Amelia," he whispered. "So old, and so tired. But I can't sleep. Never could, not really."

No-one said a word. Nothing could be said.

And that's when the impossible astronaut rose from the lake.

"Doctor?" Amy's voice rose an octave. She grabbed at Rory.

He held up a wet, shining hand slick with his tears. "It's for me," he said thickly. "Do not interfere. Whatever happens, do not interfere." The Doctor stood, brushed off his trousers. Strode towards the impossible astronaut, his death.

If only it was death.


End file.
